Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (59 page)

Again, Sabina gave a single nod.

“If that is true, milady, you would be as miserable
here as you would in a loveless marriage. Perhaps more so. I
therefore must deny your request even before it is made.” She
turned to Robert. “And even if Her Ladyship truly were called to
serve Our Lord, I’m afraid I could not allow her to take the veil
here, when her fiancé is our greatest friend and supporter. Though
I cannot speak for other abbesses elsewhere in England.”

Sabina hung her head. It was all as Robert had
predicted. She had no place here, no place anywhere but with Lord
Reginald. His power and ruthlessness knew no bounds, not even the
walls of a cloister.

“Marriage is not an end to freedom, milady,” the
abbess went on. “Indeed, it can be a great opportunity, for a great
many things. For children, for protection, even spiritual growth.
As the great Saint Paul once said, it is better to marry than to
burn. I was married once myself, milady, before I became a bride of
Christ, and I look back fondly upon those days.”

Robert blinked. “You were married, Reverend Mother?
Truly?”

She nodded. “I was married to a much older man when
I was only fourteen, far younger than Her Ladyship. It was a short
marriage, as my husband did not live long. But he cared for me well
enough, protected me and provided me with everything I needed or
wanted. I had a son, and when my husband died my son inherited all
his wealth and landholdings. But then the Normans came and took it
all away. I left my son in the care of relatives in Scotland and
came here to the abbey. I have been here ever since.My son grew up
to be a great priest and scholar, and I see him often. I am quite
happy with my life, and I’m looking forward to my next one with
God.”

“I don’t understand,” Sabina said, on the verge of
tears. “I know you’re trying to comfort me with your story,
Reverend Mother, but it only makes things seem worse.”

The older woman smiled. “All I’m saying, milady, is
that marriage is not the only stage or your life, nor the final
one. It is merely a step on a long journey. You may be surprised at
what God has in store for you.” She turned back to Robert. “And
that goes for the both of you.”

Chapter
7

Robert and Sabina were back on the move. The abbess
at Glastonbury had returned their freshly cleaned and pressed garb
and given them six days’ provisions from the abbey kitchens, along
with two skins of wine, a keg of beer, and a pack donkey that
trailed on a line behind Arthur. The abbess promised to send her
swiftest messengers ahead to Angwyld to announce their arrival.
She’d even offered them the use of three soldier-monks from her
personal guard, but Robert had refused. “I can get her safely home
to her father’s house,” he said. “Lord Reginald will be waiting for
her there, and the marriage can be performed at once. I don’t
believe she’ll try to escape now, and I don’t think continuing to
treat her like a guarded prisoner is going to help anything.”

The abbess had given him a grave look then—a wise
and perceptive woman, she could sense the growing connection
between Robert and his captive. She pulled him aside, out of
Sabina’s earshot as Sabina oversaw the packing of their provisions
onto their mounts. “I trust your intentions are honorable, Master
Robert, and that you will return the Lady Sabina to her rightful
place safely? You do not plan to fail your employer in this
regard?”

“No, Reverend Mother, of course not. Whatever would
make you say such a thing?”

“Somehow I think your path back to Angwyld will not
be a smooth one,” was the abbess’ cryptic reply. “Go with God,
young one,” she said. “And take care.”

****

They’d been riding in silence for about two hours,
and dusk was already starting to fall. The next town was twenty
miles away, and there wasn’t a farmhouse or roadside tavern in
sight. Storm clouds gathered ominously over their heads. They would
have to find somewhere to bed down for the night—alone.

Robert scanned the hillside and spotted a sheer rock
facing jutting out from a jagged hill. Experience told him there
were probably accessible caves in a hillside like that. He steered
Amir down a narrow bridle path leading off the main road towards
the hillside, and directed Sabina to follow him. They rode for a
few more minutes, until the path ended at the edge of the rock
facing. “Wait here,” Robert said sternly, and dismounted from his
horse. He disappeared around the curve of the massive rock.

Sabina supposed she could use this opportunity to
run, but where would she go? She had no money of her own, no
friends that weren’t either dead by Norman attack or bound in
service to her father. Lord Reginald likely was already at Angwyld
Castle, waiting for her. There was no escape from her horrid
situation—save death. And Sabina simply wasn’t brave enough to take
her own life.

Far more than that, there was something that seemed
to prevent her from getting too far away from Robert. Even though
she was no longer tied down or otherwise made to remain attached to
him, she still felt as if some unseen force kept them joined
together. Whenever Robert was out of her sight, Sabina became
anxious. She’d felt that way back in the abbey bathhouse with the
novices, and now that he’d disappeared around the edge of the rock
face, she felt that way again. Only far more intensely this time.
Her face became flushed, her neck and palms began to sweat. Her
heart raced, and for some strange reason a completely irrational
fear began to overtake her entire being. What would happen if
Robert disappeared around that rock face and then never came back
for her? What if she never saw him again? What if she was left out
on this barren, stormy heath alone, with nothing and no one to
return her safely home? What if—

Just then, Robert reappeared. “There are some large
open caves just on the other side of the rocks here. More than
large enough to shelter us for the night. There’s even space for a
cooking fire and a natural shelter for the horses. Come and
see.”

Sabina dismounted Arthur and gingerly led him and
the pack donkey around the edge of the rock facing. On the other
side was a small clearing, bordered by more rock facings that
jutted out over the clearing, forming a cave of sorts underneath.
It was perfect shelter from the rain that still allowed them to
look out onto their surroundings. “This is lovely,” Sabina said,
more to herself than to Robert. One thing was certain about Robert;
he was resourceful. Small wonder he was such a successful
mercenary.

Robert made quick work of unpacking their provisions
from Arthur and the donkey, and had soon set up a very comfortable
camp. He spread their bedrolls on opposite sides of the sheltered
area underneath the rock, building a small campfire in between.
Then he laid out their dinner provisions on a horse blanket by the
fire, and cooked some of the salted meat the abbess had given them
over the fire with wine, along with some turnips and watercress,
making a light stew. He did it all completely naturally, as if he’d
been building camps and cooking his own meals over fires his entire
life—because quite simply, he had.

Sabina sat on a large rock, studying Robert’s every
move. She felt connected to him in a strangely spiritual way, like
nothing she’d ever experienced before. Every motion of his hands,
whether he was unpacking a saddlebag or striking flint and steel
together to start the fire, sent tingles up and down her spine. In
a word, he fascinated her. And it was clear that everything he did
was solely to make her comfortable. Robert was a mercenary soldier,
after all—he could be content sleeping under the stars and eating a
diet of nothing but weevil-ridden hardtack, no doubt.

All at once, Robert no longer seemed like her
captor. Sabina wasn’t sure what that made him—her protector,
perhaps? Her friend? Something else?

Sabina sat quietly on her rock, contemplating the
growing contradictions of her life. Just when she thought her life
couldn’t possibly get more complicated, Robert de Tyre had
appeared. He was a man who represented everything she loathed—the
Normans, war, violence, avarice—and yet, she couldn’t take her eyes
off him. A part of her even thought the man might be her destiny.
But why? It made no sense—none of it did. How could a common
mercenary sent to capture her and return her for a bounty be her
destiny?

Suddenly the abbess’ words back at the abbey seemed
to make sense. The abbess was a very perceptive woman, and had
spoken the truth on many levels. Sabina realized then that God had
something in store for her, just as the abbess had predicted, and
Robert de Tyre had something to do with it. But what? Surely not
love or marriage. That was impossible, of course, and for a lot of
reasons. Sabina was betrothed to Robert’s employer, who also
happened to be the most ruthless Norman in England, for one. And
even if that weren’t so, Sabina couldn’t stand Robert. He was an
uncouth, coarse, common, ill-mannered, infuriating man. How could
she ever spend more than a day in his presence without going
mad?

How, indeed. At that moment, Sabina realized that
she might go mad if she never saw Robert again. Because like it or
not, understand it or not, she was hopelessly in love with him.

Sabina shut her eyes tight and buried her face in
her knees. It was all too much to grasp all at once. Was this
really how true love worked? Sabina had read plenty of tales of
love on the scrolls of her father’s library—Ovid, Homer,
Catullus—had listened to the lovelorn songs of the wandering bards
whenever they had passed through Angwyld, too. But none of those
ancients’ tales or bards’ songs had ever said that true love would
be anything like this.

True love could just go straight to hell in a
handbasket. And Sabina was already there.

Robert made the finishing touches on the stew.
Sabina had no idea where he’d managed to procure a cookpot, let
alone one with an iron lid, but the ever-resourceful Robert de Tyre
was full of surprises. He set out some leftover bread and cheese
from the abbey on a wooden trencher, then reached into his belt
pouch and pulled out a mysterious amber flask. He shook some
aromatic herbs and spices—Sabina could smell their exotic aroma
even from ten feet away—dropped them into the stew, and replaced
the lid. “Almost done,” he said. “This will be the best meal you’ve
ever tasted, Your Ladyship. I promise you.”

“What were those morsels you dropped in the pot?”
she asked. “Not poison hemlock, I hope.”

Robert laughed. For the first time since their first
meeting, he finally seemed at ease with her. “Oh no, Your Ladyship.
That was saffron, pepper, and coriander. Precious spices from the
Holy Land and even lands further to the east. My employer sometimes
pays me in spices.”

“Pays you in
spices?
I always thought mercenaries
preferred gold, milord.”

Robert rubbed his hands together, raised them to his
nose, and inhaled deeply. “There are some things in this world more
precious even than gold, milady,” he said. He crossed to her,
raised on of his palms to her nose. “Here. Take a whiff.”

Sabina jerked backward for a moment. It was the
closest she’d ever been to Robert without being tied down or
forcibly carried. Being completely free of restraints and so close
to his body, which smelled of a mix of lye soap and mineral water
from the abbey, along with the exotic scent of otherworldly spices
made Sabina uneasy. Uneasy, unsettled—and strangely excited.
Against her better judgment, Sabina finally relaxed, leaned
forward, and inhaled the scent of Robert’s outstretched palms.

It was by far the most sensual aroma she’d ever
experienced. Accustomed as she was to the woodsy, mossy scents of
her beloved West Country, with its constant rain, fog, damp and
bland food, the spices of the East were like an entrypoint into
another mystical world. “Wonderful,” she said, inhaling again,
deeper this time. “Simply wonderful. Do they taste as good as they
smell?”

“Better.” He backed away from her then, and returned
to his place beside the fire. Sabina wasn’t certain, but she could
almost swear that underneath that heavy wool tunic, armor, and
cloak of his, Robert’s chest was heaving—just as hers suddenly was.
Sabina huddled herself into a tiny ball on her rock, drawing her
knees up to her chest and leaning her head upon them. Somehow she
thought if she made herself tiny enough, she just might disappear.
And she’d rather disappear than face the powerful feelings that
were beginning to take hold of her mind and body.

Robert was tense as well. He seemed to make a point
to increase the space between the two of them. Eager to keep the
subject of conversation as far away from the two of them as well.
“Did you know that wars have been fought over the rights to spices
like this, milady?” he said. “For as much as the Pope and his men
might talk about saving the Holy Lands from heathens, the Crusades
are really about securing the spices and riches of the East for
Europe. You’re about to ingest a king’s ransom in spices, Your
Ladyship. You can buy a wealthy duchy or even a small kingdom in
this part of the world with a handful of peppercorns and saffron,
you know.”

“Surely you jest, milord.”

“No, madam, I do not. Trust me, when you taste this
stew, you will understand.” He motioned to the blanketed spot
opposite him at the fire. “Come, sit and eat. I won’t bite. I
promise.”

Sabina gingerly climbed down from her rock and
approached the fire. The scent of spices as they steeped in the
bubbling stewpot were overwhelming now. It was a sweet, yet savory
scent that reminded her of the smoking censers carried by priests
at vespers—only instead of inspiring fear and awe for the Lord God,
it heated Sabina’s insides, making her quake from within. Part of
her wanted to turn tail and run far away—but an even bigger part of
her wanted to get closer to Robert. Much closer.